


Love You Can’t Touch

by DesireeArmfeldt, orphan_account



Series: Parallel Inclinations [2]
Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asexual Character, F/M, M/M, POV First Person, POV Outsider, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-04
Updated: 2012-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-30 14:03:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt/pseuds/DesireeArmfeldt, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The second of my pair of stories set in the universe of Sock_Marionette's "Inclinations" series, in which Ray K and Fraser are flatmates, Fraser is asexual, Ray has one-night stands with other people, and there's a whole lot of pining going on.</p><p>One of Ray's blind dates has an encounter with Fraser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love You Can’t Touch

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Question of Inclination](https://archiveofourown.org/works/320348) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> (The story itself is not actually co-authored; AO3 seems to have tagged it that way because the *series* is listed as co-authored.)

For a year after Kevin died I got through life by putting one foot in front of the other.  My friends and family were great, and I had my job and I was still good at it, but it was like I was watching the movie of my life.  So on the anniversary of Kevin’s death, I firmly refused all the well-meaning offers of company from people who care about me, and spent the night getting plastered and listening to all our favorite albums.  The next day I got my hair cut and colored, and then I started telling a few of my friends that I felt like it might do me good to try going on a few dates.  Nothing serious, just to meet some new people and stop feeling quite so elderly.

 

Strangely, the first person who actually offered to set me up with a guy was Elaine, one of Kevin’s friends from the station.  Strange, only because she’s quite a bit younger than I am—than Kevin was.  Kevin used to get a lot of ragging about it from the other guys at the station, his friendship with the hot young rookie chick, all the obvious jokes.  It bothered Elaine a lot more than it bothered him, but Elaine is too tough and too smart to take shit from assholes.  Once she and I had reassured each other that we were okay with each other, she joined Kevin in laughing off the teasing, and the three of us used to go out together pretty often, and she and I became friends on our own account.  She’s been a great support to me over the past year.  And I hope I’ve been a comfort to her, too, because of course she’s been grieving for him too, and going out on the beat every day where the same thing might happen to her.

 

Anyway, Elaine offered to set me up with a cop, someone she knew from her earlier work as a civilian aide in some other district.  A couple of days later this guy, Ray, called to ask if I’d like to meet him for dinner and dancing.  I’m not much of a dancer; it wasn’t something Kevin and I ever did together.  That was what pushed me over the edge into saying yes.

 

Ray turned out to be a skinny, rough-edged guy in his early forties, with teased blond hair, expressive hands, and a grin that dropped fifteen years off his face.  He was a little formal at first, and I wondered whether this was _his_ first date in a long time.  But once we’d ordered drinks, he said:

 

“So, Grace, there’s something I gotta lay out up front, and don’t blame Elaine, ‘cause she don’t know.  I’m in love with someone I can’t have, and I ain’t looking to get involved with anyone else.  I got the idea from Elaine that you just wanted a nice night out with a guy who’s not too much of an asshole, and I’m happy to oblige.  But if you’re looking for more than that, then we’d better call it a night right here, and I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time.”

 

“I lost my husband a year ago,” I told him.  “I’m not looking for—well, I don’t know what I’m looking for, really.  I just, I’ve been feeling very distant from everything, and I just wanted to—connect with someone, I guess.”

 

“That, I can do,” he said.

 

Dinner was lovely.  Ray was entertaining and attentive, and it turned out that what he’d been restraining earlier was not nerves but a tendency to perpetual motion: jitters and sharp gestures, fiddling with silverware and sticking things in his mouth.  It sounds irritating, but actually it was magnetic when that excess of energy was focused on me, lighting me up with his leading questions and his dumb jokes and his beautiful smile.

 

It took a little teasing and coaxing for him to get me out onto the dance floor—partly because I enjoyed his coaxing.  Then he took me in his arms and transformed again, all that restless fidgeting channeled into a relaxed, confident grace.  He was a good enough leader that even though I didn’t know what I was doing, he just flowed along and I flowed with him, like we were two parts of one creature.  And he was clearly loving it, humming along under his breath with a sweet, lazy smile.  And I responded to him, not just with smiles but with a jolt of sexual desire that shocked the wits out of me.

 

That stopped me cold, and I suddenly found myself dissolving into tears, right there on the dance floor.

 

He didn’t say anything, bless him, just steered me gently off the floor and back to our table and offered me a napkin to cry in.  He ordered drinks and then just sat quietly until I got myself back under control.

 

“I do something wrong?” he asked softly.

 

“No, it’s not you, you’ve been lovely.”

 

“Thanks.  You’re a class act yourself, you know?”  He touched his glass to mine.  “This getting to be too much for you?”

 

“I don’t know.  I just had a moment. . .I suddenly wondered what I was doing, having so much fun.  With you.” 

 

“Without him?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He nodded.  “That’s gotta be rough.  I can’t say I know how you feel, exactly; I mean, I haven’t lost someone like that.  But I know how it feels to be missing the person you love.  Kind of the story of my life, actually.  You want to call it a night?  No hard feelings.”

 

“I’m not sure I could face my apartment right now.  Would you mind if we stayed for a while?”

 

“Hey, twist my arm.”  He flashed me a smile and launched into a series of hilarious stories about the crazy situations he and his partner got into on the job. 

 

By the time we were on our second round of drinks, I was telling Ray about the time that Kevin and I decided to repaper all the walls in our first home by ourselves, and the puppy that we never managed to train but couldn’t bring ourselves to give up, and way he refused to wrap his bum knee and kept re-straining it.  On the third round, Ray told me about his ex-wife, and how in his memory she was always the girl he fell in love with (“Though I gotta admit, she always did know how to jerk my chain.  But that used to be part of the fun, ‘till it wasn’t anymore.”).  We ended up getting drunker than I’ve been since my wedding, holding hands and trading love stories—sweet ones and exasperating ones and embarrassing ones.  Somewhere in there, Ray confessed that he was in love with his partner, who was also his roommate, and who cared deeply about Ray (“Although it’s always hard to tell what he’s feeling, because he keeps a tight lid on himself.”), but didn’t want to sleep with him (“That ain’t about me, the guy just don’t like sex, although it’s hard sometimes not to think that maybe he just hasn’t met the person who’d light his rocket.  Well, and also not frame him for murder and get him shot in the back.”). 

 

Eventually, the waiters started putting chairs up on the surrounding tables and giving us dirty looks.  Neither of us was in any shape to drive, so Ray called a cab and we staggered into it together.  He said he’d see me to my door, then fell half-asleep on my shoulder during the ride.  His warm weight was so comforting, and so was his unfamiliar male smell.  So when the cab pulled up and Ray sputtered awake, I invited him to stop over at my place for the night.

 

“Not gonna be much use to you,” he mumbled, but he paid the cab driver and let me take him by the hand and lead him upstairs.

 

We were both too far gone to do more than strip off the most uncomfortable pieces of clothing and flop into bed; I vaguely thought about nightgowns and toothbrushes and about asking him if he’d prefer the couch, but it all seemed like too much trouble.  Ray cuddled right up to me, loose and half-asleep, and insisted on stroking me to orgasm, though, as promised, he was in no shape for sex himself.  When I protested that he didn’t need to feel obliged, he slurred indignantly, “I’m a _gentleman_.  Know how to treat a lady.”  His hot breath in my ear made me shiver almost as much as what he was doing with his fingers, and afterwards, I fell asleep in the warm shelter of his embrace, rocked to sleep by his deep breathing.

 

I woke up with a pounding head and a queasy stomach, and a lean, beautiful man snuggled up against me, one arm draped over my hip.  I lay there watching him sleep until discomfort forced me to get up and go to the bathroom.  I don’t often drink heavily, but on the other hand I have a strong stomach, so after a shower, a couple of glasses of water, and some Tylenol, I was feeling up to the challenge of breakfast. 

 

I started cooking up a real breakfast out of habit—Kevin always liked protein when he had a hangover—before I remembered that I had no idea whether my guest would find that appealing or disgusting.  I padded back into the bedroom, where I found Ray sprawled out across the whole bed with his arms wrapped around my pillow.  I perched on the bed next to him and put my hand on his bare shoulder, feeling like his lover and his mother at the same time, although of course I wasn’t either.

 

He snuffled and mumbled something unintelligible, then twisted around and blinked up at me. 

 

“’Morning, gorgeous.  Gimme ‘sec, not good with mornings, and I think something died in my mouth here.”

 

“The bathroom’s over there.  There’s Tylenol in the cabinet.  Do you want breakfast?  Coffee?”

 

“Mmmyeah.  Okay ‘f I shower?”

 

“Help yourself.”

 

He was a long time in the shower, finally appearing in the kitchen doorway, dressed in last night’s clothes with his damp hair lying flat over his forehead.  I smiled and turned to pour him a cup of coffee.  When I looked back at him he was leaning on the doorframe, eyes closed and face pale.

 

“Are you all right?” I asked, wondering if the smell of food was making him sick after all.

 

He shook his head and swallowed, eyes still closed.  “I’m fine.  Just—I’m fine.”  He passed his hand over his face, then opened his eyes and offered me a rueful smile.

 

“Not in the mood for breakfast?” I asked.

 

“Nah, it’s not that, it looks great.  I just—shit, I’m sorry, you’ve been great, and I wish I could sit down and have breakfast with you, but it—feels like cheating, you know?”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“No, no, it’s not your fault.  I didn’t think—I mean, it’s not like we have any kind of _arrangement_.  And I sleep with people, and that’s not a problem, ‘cause we don’t do that, he doesn’t want that.  I even had someone sleep over once, when he was out of town, but. . .  I don’t know, but Sunday breakfast, that’s--that’s _his_ , his and mine, and I’m here with you and. . .it’s wrong, no can do, I suck.  I’m sorry.”

 

I offered him my phone to call his friend, but he refused.  He also waved off my suggestion that he call a cab to get him back to the club where we’d left our cars, saying the walk would be good for him.  His jitters were back in full force by now.  But he stopped at the door to kiss my cheek.

 

“You take care of yourself, hear?  You’re too beautiful to go to waste.”  And then he was gone.

 

I ate breakfast and read the newspaper, then went collect my own car.  It was a mild spring day, so I decided to follow Ray’s example and walk there.  I found myself whistling and making up little stories about the people I passed, like I used to do to amuse Kevin when we were walking together.

 

My car was the only one in the lot, unsurprisingly, but there was also a man there, on his knees studying the pavement, with a big husky dog sniffing around beside him.  He looked up and greeted me politely as I approached, so I returned the greeting and asked what he was doing.

 

“Ah.”  He rubbed his eyebrow with his thumbnail, looking embarrassed.  “In fact, I am engaged in what is probably a foolish exercise in jumping to conclusions.  I am attempting to ascertain whether the owner of one of the cars that was parked here last night met with some sort of mischance, or whether he merely, ah, decided to avail himself of an offer of companionship.”

 

“I’m sorry, do you mean you’re looking for someone who’s missing?”

 

“I am not so much looking for him as trying to find out whether he is, indeed, missing.  If he is merely on a—an extended date, then it would be both unnecessary and inappropriate for me to intrude.  If, on the other hand, he has been the victim of foul play. . .”

 

“Do you really think that’s likely?”

 

“There is precedent for it,” he said.  “However, the traces on the pavement, as well as the scent trail,”—he gestured at the dog—“Would appear to indicate that he returned to his car and drove it away, suggesting that he was not in trouble.”

 

I thought about Ray’s cop stories, which had included a couple of unlikely-sounding kidnappings, as well as his partner’s habit of reading tire tracks and tasting oil spills.

 

“Are you Ray’s friend?” I asked.

 

Raising his eyebrows, he said, “Indeed, I am.  Do you have information about his whereabouts?”

 

“I don’t know where he is now.  But he left my apartment a few hours ago to come here and pick up his car.  Which I suppose he did, since the only car here is mine.”

 

“Indeed.  Then it would appear my fears were unjustified.”

 

“Do you always track him down like this when he doesn’t come home at night?” I asked, surprised to find myself going on the attack with a stranger, but outraged on Ray’s behalf.

 

The man touched his tongue to his teeth with a pained look.  “Am I stalking my friend, in other words?”

 

“Well, you have to admit, it does look a little. . .possessive.”

 

“Unhealthily so, in fact?”

 

“He is a grown man, you know,” I replied.

 

“Indeed, he is.  And entitled to both his own life and his privacy.  I would not—that is, I hope—well, to be honest, I’m not sure the question has come up before.  Ray usually apprises me of his plans when he goes away overnight.  Not that he needs to account for his movements to me, but as partners we are accustomed to watching each other’s backs, as he would put it.  On the other hand, I admit that I am not used to such a close partnership, and I often find its parameters. . .opaque.”  He turned one hand palm-up in a conciliatory gesture.

 

“Have you tried talking to him about it?” I asked.

 

The hand tilted back and forth.  “Occasionally.  Well, not this particular point, but. . .We are both aware of the complexities of our friendship.”

 

 _Like the part where he’s in love with you but you don’t want to sleep with him_ , I thought, but that really would have been too intimate to say to a stranger, not to mention a betrayal of Ray’s confidence.  Still, the man’s eyes held a hint of wistful uncertainty that reminded me of Ray’s when he said _It’s hard to tell. . ._

 

“You know,” I said.  “I was married for twenty-one years, and one thing that really surprised me is how much work it takes to be with someone long-term.  You think that if you love each other, everything else will take care of itself.  But it turns out that that’s not true.”

 

He nodded, his eyes remote.  “There is certainly precedent to suggest that I am better at love than at. . .partnership,” he said.  “I’m afraid it does seem to run in my family.”

 

“If you’re determined to fail, I’m sure you can arrange it,” I said.  “But it hardly seems fair to your partner.”

 

He winced, and I bit my tongue to keep from apologizing.  I felt appallingly rude, but having said it, there was no point in undercutting the effect. 

 

“I don’t know how to be fair to him,” he breathed.  “I know what he wants, but I can’t give it to him.  So perhaps I should. . .go away, let him find someone else who can meet his needs.  But I can’t decide whether that would be just or simply presumptuous.”  He ran his tongue around the inside of his lower lip, a little gesture of pain that made my heart ache.  “And in any case, I’m not sure I am capable of doing it.”

 

I wasn’t at all sure that I would be doing either of them a favor by encouraging them to pursue this relationship.  But the thought of these two men choosing to be alone rather than together was more than I could bear right then. 

 

So I said, “About ten years ago, Kevin was injured on the job, someone slammed him in the head with a two-by-four.  For a while the doctors weren’t sure whether his brain was damaged, whether he’d recover fully.  I just kept praying for him to be all right, and praying that if the worst happened, that I would have the strength to stay with him, to keep loving him, even if he was. . .not the same.”

 

I remembered Kevin’s Lieutenant on the phone saying _He’s been shot, dead instantly, I’m sorry_ , and my first thought, before the tears came, _Thank God it was clean, thank God I’ll never have to know. . ._

 

After a while, Ray’s friend said “I would like to think that I would be able to do that, for someone I loved.  But if I were the one to be. . .diminished. . .then I would also like to think that I would have the strength not to accept companionship at such a price.”

 

“The price for him or the price for you?”

 

He didn’t answer right away.  “I—I suppose I do find it difficult to allow someone else to pay what seems an unacceptably high price, for my benefit.  You’ll say that one can’t make someone else’s choices for him.”

 

“Actually, I’d say that the entire point of a partnership is making choices together.  And trusting the other person to balance your needs with his.”

 

Maybe it was what he needed to hear, because his face went expressionless and he was silent for a long time.  Finally he faced me squarely and looked me in the eye.

 

“If I may say so, ma’am, your directness is. . .uncomfortable, but an honor.  And I had better go now.  Ray will, no doubt, have returned home by now, and it would be deeply ironic if he were to start worrying about what has become of me.”  He held out his hand to me.  “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

 

We shook hands, then he turned on his heel and strode off briskly, the dog following at his heels.

 

I tried to imagine what it was about this man that made him Ray love him so wholeheartedly.  Wondering if they’d be able to work out their differences and make each other happy, or if they’d have the strength to let each other go and try again with other partners.

 

As I walked home, I remembered my first few years with Kevin: fireworks all the time, emotional and sexual, and God, it was wonderful.  But of course that couldn’t last.  We grew older, grew familiar, put up with each other’s foibles and knew each other’s needs without asking.  And the sex became less passionate and less frequent.  Sometimes I wondered whether we had less sex because I wasn’t showing interest any more, whether Kevin secretly wanted more than I was giving him.  I did ask him about it once, and he just put his arms around me and said _that’s not what I married you for._  

 

Which was maybe too easy an answer, certainly too easy an answer to give to Ray and his friend.  But I couldn’t help imagining Ray saying those words to his friend and watching that confused-little-boy look ease away, and both of their faces crinkling into smiles.  And I thought, _That would be worth the price of admission_.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Untouchable Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/432704) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)




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